


Street Art

by Cormag_Ravenstaff



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Soen no Kiseki/Akatsuki no Megami | Fire Emblem Path of Radiance/Radiant Dawn
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drama, F/F, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-12-08
Packaged: 2019-07-14 09:57:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16038110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cormag_Ravenstaff/pseuds/Cormag_Ravenstaff
Summary: Heather considered herself a smart woman. Always one to make good decisions. But a job came her way that just seemed all too tempting to refuse. Tantalizing reward, a series of political rebellious images, it had it all. A graffiti artist had to put money in the wallet somehow.





	1. Chapter 1

_Blue: Good day?_

_Yellow: another day of people not appreciating my art. you know, the usual_

_Blue: Send me pictures._

_Yellow: havent made anything worthy for your eyes yet_

_Blue: I just want to see something you painted. Is that too much for a girl to ask?_

_Yellow: your expectations are waaaay too high for what i do. once i make something thatll live up to them ill show you_

_Blue:_

_Yellow: cmon babe, its just something i have to do_

_Blue: Ok._

_Yellow: are you mad at me?_

_Blue: I just want to support you and help you, but you won't let me in. I want to be with you, but you make it hard._

_Yellow:_

_Yellow: do you want to meet up for a date?_

_Blue: What do you mean_

_Yellow: face to face. call it my apology_

_Blue: Apology accepted!_

_Blue: I can't wait to see you! When do you want to?_

_Yellow: give me a little time to round up a bit of cash. ill let you know_

Heather typed a quick goodbye and strut to her shithole apartment's bathroom. The cracked mirror, broken from drunken elegance, showed her in all her anxiety.

"Holy shit," Heather gasped, cranking the water on and splashing her face. Drops falling off her cheeks, she looked up again. "Heather, you dumb fuck."

She laughed. It was shaky, wrought with nerves still working their way out of her body. Now she had to figure out where she was going to get the money to take Blue out on a date.

Good thing Sothe had something for her. At least, she hoped he did. He'd asked her to meet tonight and he never had done that before.

Heather dried her face and snatched her worn coat off the back of a chair. The chair was probably a better article, as it was one of the only pieces of furniture she owned. The chair, the bed and the table.

Ashera, what if things went well on their date? What if Blue wanted to come back to  _her_ place?

"You've fucked yourself this time, Heather," she groaned, stepping out into the night air.

* * *

Crimea certainly had its fine points and none of them were anywhere close to where Heather lived or operated. Some would call this part of Melior the slums, but Heather preferred the word 'home'.

"Motherfucker," Heather spat as the first trickle of raindrops began. Cars drove past, their lights providing more light than the streetlamps did. Popping her collar up against the wind, she trekked past the dingy storefronts, many of which had long gone out of business.

A cacophonous boom resounded in the distance. Thunder. Not for the first time that day, Heather wished she had a car.

Lady Luck must have been watching her for once, because as Heather put her hand on the doorknob of their meeting place, the downpour began. She fingered the key and popped it into the lock.

A television echoed through the hall of the foreclosed building. Sothe had a friend at the bank that let him stay there and run his 'business' in its walls. It reminded Heather of her place, but with extra furniture.

"— _is yet another example of the troubled reign of Elincia Ridell Crimea. Some say these scandals are just more nails on her coffin. The Queen's popularity plummets across the country, Melior withstanding. In Felirae, a riot broke out, but was quickly quelled by—"_

The word MUTE appeared on the TV as Sothe pointed the remote at the screen. He jumped up, not sparing her a greeting. Heather shrugged and took a seat. Unlike her, Sothe actually owned another chair.

Sothe typed on his phone in a flurry. His muscles were tensed and breathing heavy. Heather's hands tensed on the armrests, alarm bells ringing in her mind.

"Sothe." His name got his attention. The green haired man turned to her, finally giving Heather his attention. "Why am I here?"

"I was contacted by someone who has a job for us. Well, more for you. Well paying." Sothe's words were clipped, almost as if he were worried he'd say too much. Heather's eyes narrowed. He wasn't telling her everything.

Down the hall, the door creaked open, then shut quietly. Footsteps struck the wood, water flecking onto the walls audibly.

A tall man stepped into view, face completely dry as he closed an umbrella. He leaned it against a wall, not caring about the water that dripped onto the floor. He lowered the hood of his sweatshirt, revealing a handsome face.

"Heather, right?" he asked, his voice soft, almost comforting if not for the doubt clawing at the back of Heather's mind. She nodded and he took the seat across from her.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Heather," the man said, sighing as he sat down. "I won't waste time with pleasantries. I'm here on behalf of a client, the middleman, if you will. According to Sothe here, you're quite the talent with spray paint. He showed me some of your graffiti exposés."

"I'm good at what I do," Heather shrugged, resisting the temptation to look at Sothe. "You never told me your name or your client's."

"My client's identity must remain unknown. It is paramount, you understand. As for me, most call me the Fireman," he said, searching for something in her eyes. Whatever he looked for, the next moment he stopped.

"What do you want me to do?" Heather asked, looking over the Fireman. His clothes were baggy, but Heather had good eyes. She saw the physique of a dangerous man.

"What you're good at: art," he supplied simply. "In short, my client wants to commission several of your pieces in some public places."

"How public?"

"Public," he answered, stressed even.

"How much will I be payed?"

The Fireman smiled. "My client is prepared to pay you one hundred thousand gold for the first piece. Another one hundred thousand for each successive piece on top of that as well."

Heather gaped. One hundred thousand? With that kind of money, her mother would never have to worry about her finances. Hell, Heather could finally get out of her shithole of an apartment. Or at least furnish it.

"So you'll pay me a hundred grand for each piece?" Heather reiterated.

The Fireman laughed. "You misunderstand. The first piece will be one hundred thousand, the second two hundred, third three hundred, and so on."

Sothe's audible gasp of disbelief went unheard to Heather as she stared at the Fireman. Her mind was counting the coins, too wary to believe it. "What will I have to do?"

"Like I said, what you're good at. My client wishes to take advantage of the current political climate." A hand gestured to the muted TV. The bar read: QUEEN ELINCIA HAVING AN AFFAIR WITH LUCIA DELBRAY? A picture plastered across the screen showed Elincia embracing a woman with long blue hair tightly. "Our Queen is hardly in the good graces of the public. Your role will be to spread some messages across Melior. I am afraid I cannot tell you anymore until you agree to this job."

Heather's eyes lingered on the TV, watching Elincia frozen in time. The picture didn't look like any sort of romantic hug she'd ever seen, but Heather hardly cared for politics. She'd made her way fine in the world without them.

"Anything you can tell me about these public places?"

"Sothe tells me you're quick at what you do." The Fireman's eyes flicked to the green haired man lingering in the background. "If you're as fast at graffitiing as he says, I figure you've nothing to worry about as far as getting caught."

Heather's eyes went to Sothe, looking for anything. But the man was entirely focused on the Fireman, giving her nothing.

"What do you say, Heather?" The Fireman leaned forward, eyes searching her face. "I need an answer before I walk out of that door."

She bit her lip. "Can I change my mind later if I agree?"

Whatever levity the Fireman had withered as he leaned back. "It would be for the best if you stuck with this. You will be well compensated, as I said before."

Heather thought of her empty wallet. Her mother. Blue.

"I'll do it," she said.

"Wonderful." He plucked an envelope from his pocket. "Your instructions are in there. We will know once you complete this commission and contact you with further information on your next commissions after." His eyes grew hard. "Do not try to contact me. Talk to Sothe and if circumstances require it, I'll find you. Am I clear?"

"Crystal." Her breath felt trapped in her lungs, afraid to leave.

"I look forward to seeing your work, Heather." The Fireman stood up and grabbed his umbrella. Flipping his hood back up, he walked to the door.

Heather broke the seal on the envelope. A sheet of paper with typed instructions came out, along with a picture. The sigil of the Crimean royal family. But the tree was dead, wilted. Beneath it, 'Elincia's Crimea'.


	2. Chapter 2

Heather embraced the term 'street art'. What she did was art, graffiti not limited to gang signs and territory marking. All Sothe wanted from her was to mark drop spots for the drugs he ran, but Heather added her own flair. Where one person might make a small mark or codeword to signify it, Heather painted a cityscape.

As far as the cops were concerned, she was a vandal with talent. People in the city enjoyed her work, but authorities wouldn't hesitate to lock her up. After all, what she did was illegal.

Sothe payed her, not well, but payed her all the same despite the liberties she took. Cops didn't tend to look for drop points under what the public thought of as murals, after all.

Despite what she was about to do being just as illegal as anything else, Heather felt nervous. The letter had dictated a time and location. So at midnight, Heather was crouched in some bushes with a bag of cans. With the design already drawn out, she didn't need to bring her usual array of colors. Just those required.

Her canvas was a wall in the city's most well-known park: Delbray Park. Whoever-the-fuck Delbray must have given the crown a shitload of money to get such a nice park named after him.

At this time of night, not many people walked about. She didn't need long to do the job, but still she delayed.

"C'mon, Heather. One hundred thousand," she breathed. Her hood came over her head, blocking out the yellow hair that would make her memorable. She walked out of the bushes, casting a cursory glance around to search for witnesses.

No one.

Breathing deeply, Heather reached into her bag and pulled out brown. Brown for the dead tree. She set to work, mind closing off the rest of the world for several minutes.

* * *

Heather's hand slammed down on the alarm she'd forgotten to shut off after she'd returned home. Groaning, she rolled in her bed, spitting strands of hair from her mouth.

Then she remembered.

More awake, Heather walked to her old laptop without even pausing to put clothes on. The cold nipped at her, but she pushed the feeling aside.

The laptop's slow power-on sequence had never bothered her before, but now it was agony. She bit her lip, tapping her fingers impatiently on the table.

 _Ding!_ Success! Light came to the screen and Heather's trembling fingers shot across the keyboard. A news website came up.

"— _more bold than before. The graffitist defaced part of Delbray Park. Now, this matches the style of whoever has been creating these admittedly charming acts of vandalism."_ Across the screen flashed several of her previous works, each vibrant and full of color depicting everything from simple things like flowers to visages of historical figures.  _"One police officer commented that graffitists don't usually go as public as this and that they have no suspects at the moment, but do believe all these works to be of the same hand—"_

Heather sighed, a nervous chuckle wracking her body. No one had seen her. It was a relief to confirm. The lack of sleep began to hit her as she stifled a yawn.

"— _the image itself has raised some reactions. Social media posts across Crimea are championing the art, criticizing Queen Elincia's reign. Several officials have come forward to condemn the message, most notably Geoffrey Delbray. Still no statement has come from Queen Elincia herself, though we expect one in the next few hours. Make sure to tune in to our interview with Geoffrey Delbray coming up—"_

Heather closed the webpage. She opened up her messaging application.

_Yellow: im bored pay attention to me_

There was no response for ten minutes. Just as Heather was ready to give up, Blue replied.

_Blue: Don't think I can for long, things are pretty hectic on my end._

_Yellow: why?_

_Blue: My job. This graffiti news story has thrown work into chaos._

"Fuck," Heather mumbled. Blue worked in the government. Heather was responsible for ruining her day.

_Yellow: will it cheer you up to know that i finally got paid? date time, babe_

_Blue: You don't mean today, do you?_

_Yellow: of course not. when works for you?_

_Blue: Three days from now? That work for you?_

_Yellow: anything you say works for me_

_Blue: You're incorrigible. I'll talk to you later._

_Yellow: cant wait_

She shut the lid of her laptop as a knock pounded on her door. Her head turned to the door and then looked down at her naked body.

"Shit."

The knocking grew more frequent as Heather finally reached the door, a shirt on that ran down to her thighs. She opened the door mid-knock.

It was a man she'd never seen before. He looked impatient as he pressed a bag in her hands before turning and walking down the stairs back towards the ground floor.

One peek inside told her what it was. Her payment. A grin spread across her face as she picked up a few pieces of gold.

This would do nicely. Now she really could take Blue out on a date.

Inside her apartment, life was good. Outside, Melior pulsed with the anger of its denizens, the pressure building.


	3. Chapter 3

_Blue: Are you picking me up tonight?_

_Yellow: would if i could. this poor artist doesnt have a car_

_Blue: Want me to pick you up? Or do you want to meet there?_

_Yellow: meet there. i live out of the way of where were going_

_Blue: And where are you taking me to?_

_Yellow: Oscar's_

_Blue: I'm glad I chose a woman with taste. Meet there at 7?_

_Yellow: see you there babe_

Heather bit her lip. She'd known Blue was a woman of higher class than herself, but to not even react to going to Oscar's? It was one of the most popular restaurants in Melior. Run by three brothers, they had the upper class dining market in a stranglehold.

Thankfully, Heather had money to spare. She'd sent home some, a minimized amount so her mother wouldn't come calling. She'd send more of it soon. But the leftover had been more than enough to buy an outfit and makeup for the evening. She'd be damned if she didn't impress Blue.

Now came the part where she spent the next four hours worrying over how the evening would go.

* * *

The subway rolled to a stop and Heather still hadn't shaken her nerves. She stepped out through the doors among a crowd of people dressed richly, far above Heather's status. But it was a part to play and Heather always thought of herself a good actor. No one looked twice at her. They were too busy staring at her breasts.

Luckily she need not suffer it for long. Oscar's wasn't far from the station. Heather shivered, the breeze biting into her bare legs. Stupid fashion not covering things.

Though that certainly wasn't what she was thinking when she bought it. After all, Heather remembered the look on the girl's face when she asked for an outfit with a deeper neckline. She liked the idea of making Blue stare.

Heather stepped into the restaurant and gave her name for the reservation. Blue knew to ask for her name. She'd not paused to consider if Blue would beat her there, but a quick check to her messages said she hadn't.

The waiter left her at the table to wait for her date. Their table was in the back, tucked away from the noise of the rest of the establishment. A small bribe had secured the table for their evening.

"Heather?"

The unfamiliar voice saying her name had her flicking her eyes up. And her jaw dropping.

She had been ready for her date to look like anything. It was Blue's personality that had her swooning, her qualities as a foil to Heather. She'd been ready for perhaps a snobby upper class woman or anything really.

She hadn't been ready for Lucia  _fucking_ Delbray.

"Is this seat taken?" Lucia asked, her expression a poker face. Her voice quivered, wracked with a tremor. Her only tell.

"You're hot," Heather said, the words slipping out. She wasn't capable of thought, too taken with the blue haired woman who moved with an elegance Heather thought was only reserved for TV.

"I'll take that as a no," Lucia said through a chuckle, tension releasing in her body. She sat down, fingers playing with the menu for any semblance of a distraction. She stared at Heather, waiting for her to say something.

"I knew you were wealthy, but I never took you for nobility." Part of Heather was hurt, hurt that the woman she'd been getting involved with romantically had hidden something from her.

The hurt feeling meshed with hypocrisy.

But far more of Heather was pleased with the circumstances. Interesting  _and_ gorgeous? Sign a girl up, please.

Lucia flashed a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry about that. I've had plenty of suitors ready to marry for my last name rather than my first. I didn't want to mess anything up."

"Apology accepted," Heather grinned. "Us artists have to been accepting people, after all." The lie soured on her tongue. It wasn't completely a lie though. She was an artist of her own right.

Lucia leaned forward and Heather resisted looking below her neck. "I must say, you're far more…" She searched for a word.

"What?"

"Roguish than I expected. I like it."

The waiter returned, interrupting them. He introduced himself as the owner's youngest brother, Rolf, and promised they wouldn't be bothered for the duration of the evening save for himself. Heather thanked Lady Luck for having her back again. Had she not reserved the private table, the entire city would have known she was on a date with Lucia Delbray.

Their orders placed, Rolf left. Loath to waste a moment of the evening, Heather launched into the next topic of conversation. "Recovering from those busy days of work?"

Lucia sighed. "I'd rather not talk about it, if that's alright with you. At least not now."

Heather nodded. "Fair enough."

"I feel like I'm at a disadvantage here," Lucia said, recovering immediately. "You've no doubt seen me in the news and know who I am, so I want to know you better."

"I'm not a huge fan of keeping up with current events and the like, but I get you." Heather launched into a summary of her life, leaving out the parts about her living situation, career choice and the types of people she dealt with.

In hindsight, she gave Lucia almost nothing. She could tell Lucia picked up on it too.

But the noblewoman didn't pry. Instead, she turned the conversation to something much more trivial. Heather breathed relieved.

Their food came and went, the dialogue never letting up. Rolf stopped coming by to ask how they were, realizing he would only get ignored.

"Let me," Lucia said, reaching for the bill.

The selfish side of Heather, which admittedly was a large part, wanted to let her. But dammit, she wouldn't ruin the first good thing to happen to her in a long time like this.

"No way, babe," Heather swatted Lucia's hand away. "You can take care of next time…if that's not too eager?"

Lucia laughed. "You're not the only one. I think we can agree to a second date."

She wanted to shout from the rooftops. Instead she settled for: "I suppose you can't resist my charm. It's alright, no one can. Not even me."

Her date rolled her eyes. "Humble. Duly noted."

* * *

She let herself fall back on her bed, uncaring about the wrinkles that would no doubt get in her dress. Heather felt giddy, the desire to laugh uncontrollably was too great. She succumbed.

While her wallet was lighter, Heather felt good. Life was good. She was on top of the world.

Her euphoria clouded her from seeing an envelope slide under her door.


	4. Chapter 4

Her high came crashing down when she noticed the letter. Instead of Lucia in her mind, the Fireman lingered, watching.

As did the idea of two hundred thousand gold.

The time and date was once again for that night. The drawing included was far simpler, a simplistic but recognizable face of Queen Elincia with the words: 'She doesn't care'.

She stared at it for a long time. Her hesitation didn't stem from any love for the Queen. Hell, Heather was one of those that wouldn't remember her last name were it not for the country named after it. No, that hesitation came from the blue beauty she'd met face-to-face that night.

Heather was no fool, she'd done her research. Lucia Delbray had grown up with Queen Elincia. They were said to regard each other as sisters. Or as the tabloids stated it, lovers.

A vile taste surged through her mouth. Heather growled as it slowly passed. The next person she saw who insinuated that  _her_ Lucia was fucking the Queen…

But what if it was true?

She bit her lip, drawing blood. Heather had no way of knowing if she was just a fling or not. Except if she was, wouldn't Lucia have tried to suggest sex? Had she been too dense to notice?

"Fuck," Heather mumbled, the ecstasy from the evening gone completely now. And if Lucia wasn't treating her as a plaything, then she repaid that affection by fucking with the reign of her sister.

"Motherfucker."

Heather grabbed her coat and bag, sorting colors out. She had a job to do and money to earn. The rest of it could be thought about later.

* * *

She was halfway through writing the sentence below the picture when her phone rang. Swearing, Heather slipped her phone out and gave it a glance.

Her mother.

"Dammit, mom," she muttered, slipping the phone back in her pocket. Her mother had the worst timing. From calling during work, to that time she was getting her brains fucked out, mother knew best.

Heather finished the sentence and looked around. This time it had been a busy street that saw frequent traffic from the people living in suburbs as they commuted to work.

Barriers had been put up, blocking off the road. Heather had investigated, watching the detour signs for an hour before getting to work.

The Fireman. Had he blocked off the road? As late as it was, traffic was inevitable on a road like this. And roads weren't closed down on a whim like this.

But wouldn't it be obvious for the road to be closed, then a makeover of a wall on that road? Heather didn't know. She bit her lip as she sized up the picture.

This time it hadn't come out quite as similar to the picture. Elincia had far more expression. Her head was tilted down, in a way people might interpret as shame or perhaps something else. Heather saw it as sadness.

Walking away while keeping to the wall, she dialed her mother.

" _Oh hi, honey! I just tried to call you!"_

"I know, mom. I was busy with something, had to get away."

" _What are you up to?"_

"Just work."

" _That pizza place has you working this late?"_

"It's the city, mom. No one sleeps when they should."

" _Hmm, just be careful on your way back. I see all kinds of awful news stories about gangs and—"_

"Mom, did you have a reason to call me?"

Her mother paused for some time.  _"I got your package. It's a lot more money than I was expecting."_

"Got a second job. I've got a friend who has some odd jobs for me to do. He pays well."

" _What kind of jobs?"_ Her mother's tone was nothing but suspicious.

"Don't worry about it. It's just some construction kind of stuff, but it varies. Like I said, odd jobs."

" _And he pays you this much?"_

"He's loaded." Heather laughed. "And he likes me."

" _Like…?"_

"No! Gross, mom." Heather wrinkled her nose. "Sothe is never someone I'd want to think about like that. Or any man for that matter."

" _Hmm, alright. I better go, it is late after all. But this time of day is the only time you ever answer your phone!"_

"What can I say, I'm a busy girl."

They said their goodbyes, Heather hanging up first. Miles and miles away, Heather's mother hesitated to put the phone down, unasked questions at her lips.

* * *

A sigh of relief. Back home, the stress of the night passing over her and out of her body. She took off her coat and draped it over the chair.

She looked at the table, frowning. Something sat on it in the faint light. When she flicked the lights on, Heather gasped.

Two bulging bags of money.

Pawing through it, Heather's breathing quickened. Not only had they known the job was done, but they left the money in her apartment.

They could get in.

Her phone was in her hand the next moment.

"Sothe, we need to talk."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Heather rapped her knuckles against the worn door. Sighing, knowing it would take Sothe his sweet time to answer the door, she turned to look out through the slums.

Even during the middle of the night, the presence of the city was no less there. Cars drove by. They often drove far quicker through the slums in case of trouble. Heather didn't blame them, Melior only looked its best in the sun. And the shadow it cast was long.

Again, she knocked on the door, growing more impatient.

Depending on where you lived in the slums, it meant gangs. Heather had gotten off easy with her partnership with Sothe. As much as the man was a coward, no one was interested on infringing on his investment. Not when there were far more profitable avenues to put time into. Plus Sothe provided a reliable service of scoping out drop points for drugs.

Another knock.

Her eyes narrowed. Was he ducking her? Heather tried the door. Locked.

Fishing in her pockets, she produced a ring of keys. Growling to herself as she flipped through the bits of metal in the dark, she found the one she sought.

With a final insult towards Sothe, she opened the door.

As she walked in, Heather heard the TV on. Figures Sothe wouldn't hear her knocking as he watched some shitty soap opera. Or whatever it was that he watched.

Heather walked down the hall like she'd done so days prior. Her shoes clacked against the poor quality wood, reminding her of a tap dancer.

When she turned the corner, there was no Sothe. Just a few empty chairs and the flickering television. Heather frowned, her hand going to where she kept a switchblade at her belt.

_Click._

Heather froze, hearing the sound of a gun's hammer clicking back. Moments later the cold barrel pressed into her back.

"I'm just looking for Sothe," she whispered.

"Were you followed?"

"Sothe?" She started to turn around.

"Were you followed?" he repeated, this time with urgency.

"Uh, no?" she responded.

Sothe swore and pulled the gun off her. He gestured for her to follow him and walked to the kitchen. Heather followed, now with her knife in her hand.

"Sothe, what is going on?" she asked, staying in the doorway of the kitchen as Sothe pranced around quietly. He seemed to be staying out of the window's view at all cost.

Crouched up against the wall and peeked through the shuddered blinds. For a few moments, he looked back and forth along the street.

Sighing, he turned back to her. He gestured for Heather to follow him again as he walked out of the kitchen.

He went and took a seat in front of the television, turning it off, finally killing the noise. Sothe set his gun next to the remote and popped a cigarette in his mouth and lit it. Then, at long last, he gave Heather his attention.

"What did you need to see me for?" he asked.

"What the fuck was all that?" Heather asked, gesturing towards the kitchen.

Sothe took a drag, blowing smoke out in a long puff. "Just being cautious."

Heather sat down across from him. "That was not being cautious. That was you being scared chickenshit."

He nodded, not disagreeing with her. "You know that guy we met with the other day? The Fireman?"

"Yes, that's what I'm here about. They broke into my apartment and left my next payment there."

Sothe chuckled, but it wasn't full of mirth, but rather sounded hopeless. "I'm not even surprised. That Fireman…well, I did some digging. Found out that moniker is pretty well known among the underground. Apparently we made a deal with the best assassin in the world."

"Assassin?" croaked Heather, feeling her limbs tense.

"Assassin," repeated Sothe, taking another hit. "They say he'll do anything. No code of ethics, just a desire for money."

"What does this mean for us?" Heather pressed, feeling herself lean forward in her chair. Inching ever so slowly off the piece of furniture.

Sothe laughed. "We're fucked. Whatever the hell we're messed up in, they'll kill us if we fuck up, or after when we know too much. The shit they're having you do is against the Queen, I ain't the smartest man around, but I can tell we've dug our grave on this one."

Heather drew back in thought. The money she made was going to come in handy. She could flee the city, fake an ID, go out and live near her mother. Get out of Melior.

Except that her mother was hardly covert. It was likely they, whoever they were, knew about her mother.

"Fuck," she whispered. Sothe raised his cig as if in toast to her realization.

Could she fake her death? If they could break in to her apartment, then no doubt something like faking her death would be seen through. The Fireman, or someone, had to be watching her.

She didn't blame Sothe for his paranoia now.

"Heather, it was nice knowing you, but I feel like we had some good times. If we make it through this mess, let's get coffee." Sothe grinned hysterically. "But for now, don't come back to me house. My best chance is staying as far away from you as I can."

"I'll call if I need you," Heather said, standing up. She eyed the gun on the table. "Let me know if you find anything else out."

Sothe held up his cig in a salute.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops forgot to post this a while ago. Sorry!

Days passed before she got another assignment.

The letter sat next to her computer, unopened. Heather lazily typed to Lucia instead of thinking about it.

_Blue: Do you wanna go see a movie tonight? Or do something? I finally have a night free, as someone just canceled a meeting I was supposed to attend._

_Yellow: sure thing babe_

_Blue: You're not still mad, are you? About me being noble?_

_Yellow: not really mad. just surprised_

_Blue: I want to make it up to you. I like you, Heather._

_Yellow: i like you too Lucia. i want to make this work_

A voice in the back of her mind mocked her. Make this work? She still lied to Lucia. She didn't know Heather lived in the slums. Lucia didn't know her art form.

She didn't know that Heather was destroying the Queen's reputation.

It was all the news talked about. How some patriot was creating art to represent the public's desires. People rallied around the idea of who she was.

It made her feel sick. But amidst that sickness resolution bloomed.

_Yellow: i need to be honest too then. i live in the slums_

_Blue: The slums?_

_Yellow: im not an artist. i create graffiti so clients know where to pick up their drugs from dealers_

_Blue:_

_Yellow: i was worried what you would think. especially when i found out youre royalty_

_Blue: I suppose that would be pretty intimidating._

_Yellow: im sorry_

_Blue: We both lied about who we are. We're even, as I see it. I don't care what you do for a living. I don't care if we're from different sides of the tracks. I want to see you again._

_Yellow: tonight. pick out a good movie. i hate making decisions_

Heather breathed. Relieved and disappointed.

"If I have to leave town…fuck," Heather muttered.

She would  _not_ screw this up.

Heather's eyes drifted to the letter. She flicked it open and pulled out the paper.

Heather's eyes bulged.

'The Queen's backroom negotiation tactics'.

And below it, a picture taken of the queen having sex with a man. The man's identity was obscured, but the Queen's certainly was not. A legitimate picture. She looked to be enjoying it.

And below was a hand written note: 'Hope your artistic qualities are up to par for this.'

The time was for tonight.

* * *

"Hey stranger," Heather said as she slipped into the car. She didn't miss Lucia's eyes gazing at the apartment building Heather had come from, even if her recovery was quick.

"You're looking nice," Lucia complimented, offering a smile.

She better be. Heather refused to let Lucia think less of her, so she took time on her appearance. An outfit that wasn't splattered with paint and actual makeup.

Her mother would actually have been proud.

"You're looking…regal." Heather winked as Lucia swatted her. The blue haired woman began to pull away in the car.

"I would have thought you'd have a chauffeur. Or a guard. Or something." Heather looked in the backseat as if she'd discover someone hiding there.

"My brother wanted me to, but I like having my way," Lucia smirked with triumph.

Heather thought of something very dirty to say, but had the tact to keep it to herself.

They passed the drive in idle conversation, talking about the time since they last saw each other. Now that they each had more freedom to talk about themselves, the conversation felt real.

Heather enjoyed it and she hazarded a guess that Lucia did too.

They parked the car, conversation unbroken, and went into the theater. The person who sold them tickets barely got through their conversation. But against all odds, he managed to sell them tickets.

It was as they were in line for popcorn that it happened.

"Heather!"

She turned around to see who had called her name and froze.

The Fireman walked up, dressed casually and sporting a smile that had several women staring. "Heather, it's been too long." He threw his arms out for a hug that she returned late. Lucia noticed.

"Heather, do you know this man?" she asked, taking a step closer to her date. Whether it was a streak of protectiveness or fear, Heather wasn't paying attention to tell.

"We go…way back," she said, biting each word and chewing it before saying it.

The Fireman laughed. "You must be her date. Heather always did have excellent taste in women." He held out a hand. "Call me Greil, and you are…?"

"Lucia." She returned the shake, albeit warily.

"Heather, I don't want to steal you away from a beauty like this, but do you have a moment to talk?" he asked. His smile and relaxed attitude asked like it was a choice, but his eyes didn't.

"Not really," Heather replied through a frown.

The Fireman's eyes flashed. "Surely I won't take more than a few moments of your time. I insist."

Fear crawled up her spine, torturing her back. "S-sure." Heather turned to Lucia. "Give us a few moments. Wait for me by the ticket taker."

The Fireman led her away to a quieter portion of the lobby. He turned around, losing all of the friendly exterior.

"You got the letter, did you not?" he said, eyes serious.

"Yes." One word was all Heather was capable of.

"Then forgive me, but I am here wondering why you are out here on a date with  _Lucia Delbray_ instead of preparing?" the Fireman continued, tone scathing.

"I haven't told her anything," Heather said, growing defensive.

The Fireman stared at her. "Cute. I'll be the judge of that."

Heather grabbed his arm and pulled the Fireman closer to her. "If you hurt her…"

"You'll make empty threats at me?" The Fireman shook her hand off his. His tone was chiding, but an undertone lingered. "Don't forget what Sothe told you. Don't fuck with me. Just do your job and do it on time. My client isn't forgiving and neither am I."

He stepped away. "Enjoy the movie. Don't stay out too late…" He let the sentence trail off, the threat unsaid.

Heather watched him vanish into the crowd, disappearing as he had appeared. Numbly she walked back to where she'd agreed to meet Lucia.

And there she waited, looking worried. When she set eyes on Heather, she immediately was at her side whispering, "Who was that? Are you okay? Did he do something to you?"

"I'm fine," Heather said, fighting the weakness in her voice. "He's…an old client." Her mind furiously searched for more for the lie. "One who wasn't happy when I told him I wasn't into men."

Lucia looked behind them, as if expecting to see him creeping behind them. "Do you still want to see the movie? We can leave if you think he's still around."

"No, we can stay." Heather wrapped an arm around Lucia's waist. "He's gone. Don't worry about him."

"Okay, if you're sure."

They found their seats just before the movie started. Lucia immediately lifted the armrest between them and leaned into Heather. She didn't know if her date was seeking comfort or providing it.

She certainly didn't complain. Heather's arm wrapped around Lucia.

The movie turned out to be one of those action/romance movies, though this one had more of the latter. Heather filed that away as something to remember for future dates.

About halfway through, the woman made a move on the man. Soon enough, they were fucking, their faces glued to each other's.

Heather watched, definitely interested. That is, until she started seeing the hair as green. She blinked and the hair was back to black.

The photo of Elincia resurfaced in her mind. As did the time limit. Her mind screamed panic, to run. To flee the wretched city.

"Are you okay?" Lucia asked, tilting her head up to Heather.

In a brilliant moment of confusion, Heather did the first thing she could think of.

She kissed Lucia.

When Heather came to her senses, she broke away, looking as surprised as she felt. Lucia giggled and tugged Heather closer.

For a few blissful moments, Heather forgot about the picture.

* * *

Keys missed the lock repeatedly as Heather tried to open her door amidst Lucia's adventurous hands on her. Not that Heather was much better, her hand up the back of Lucia's shirt attacking her bra strap with little success.

The key finally hit home as Heather moaned. Heather broke their lips apart as she opened the door. Making sure to close it, Heather guided Lucia to her room.

As soon as she turned on the light, Heather felt herself thrown on the bed as Lucia threw her shirt off and set to work on getting Heather's off.

"Damn, I didn't expect you to be this—"

Lucia shut her up and Heather didn't complain.

* * *

Heather didn't know how much time had passed in Lucia's arms. Her head was pressed up against Lucia's breasts as the noblewoman slept.

She exfiltrated herself from Lucia's arms. She wished she could spend the night laying and listening to Lucia's heartbeat. The steady beats were calming, like listening to ocean waves.

Heather tiptoed, careful not to wake Lucia. In the event that she did wake up, Heather left her a quick note on the door telling her not to worry.

She gave herself a lookover in the mirror. Good thing she wasn't seeing anyone, because damn did she have sex hair. Heather checked her watch.

An hour before the deadline.

"Oh fuck," she mouthed, barely audible.

She sprang out from the bathroom, grabbing whatever clothes were closest. Her jacket, a scarf, Lucia's pants.

The last one almost made her pause. When had they gotten outside her bedroom? Good thing they seemed like more or less the same size, not like their bust in comparison.

Heather grabbed the instruction letter, checking to make sure the picture was still there. She glanced at it for a few moments.

Lucia was better looking.

A smile adorned her face as she raced out the door, muttering a quick prayer to Ashera that she'd make it back before Lucia woke up.


	7. Chapter 7

Heather slumped down, back to the door. Her breath was ragged, recovering its candor from the sprinting. Her mind was another matter.

She'd done it. Her first job painting a naked woman fucking a guy. In a sick way, she was impressed with herself. Desperation was a handy motivator. And it had turned out well.

Some part of her mind longed to have not even gone out, to stay in bed with Lucia who still slept. Heather had scarcely been gone two hours. She could still return.

But she felt…dirty. Like no amount of washing her hands would remove the filth.

Pulling herself up, she slumped in front of her laptop and flipped it open. With a flicker of life, it answered her call. She had a news page open after a few minutes.

Plastered all across. Censored version after censored version of her art. They didn't even show off how good the Queen looked, Heather thought.

"Motherfucker," she whispered. She'd scrolled through a few quick headlines. The damn thing's paint was barely dry and already headlines accused the Queen of bedding half of the men in Crimea.

She shouldn't be surprised. The Fireman clearly wanted to smear the Queen's image.

The comments already praised Heather for saying what the public had been thinking. They championed her, citing her akin to a folk hero.

Melior was turning into a time bomb. Every spray of paint she dealt the walls of the city was another chunk of time gone.

A floorboard creaked. Heather's head whipped around.

Lucia was awake.

Heather ripped the jacket off. The few paint flecks that lingered would be incriminating. Throwing it in a corner, Heather popped on a charming smile as Lucia peeked around the wall.

She squinted for a moment. "Are those my pants?"

Heather laughed, forgetting she had stolen them. "I was cold. And thought I might look good in them."

Lucia gave Heather a look that sent shivers down her spine. Her eyes reached Heather's, then dipped lower for a moment. She hadn't been wearing a shirt beneath her discarded jacket.

"Hot, though I think I prefer you out of them," Lucia smirked and walked back to the bedroom.

Heather scampered after her without a moment's thought, slamming the lid of her laptop.

* * *

Heather woke up alone. She'd snared a pillow instead of her lover.

Her eyes shot around, looking for the woman she'd spent the night with. No sign of Lucia, except a few blue hairs left on the pillow.

She slinked up, shooting a glance around the apartment. A note was taped to her door, an apology note.

"Fuck me," Heather groaned. Lucia wrote that she had been called in to help deal with the political mess that Heather had created in the early hours of the morning.

Damn, she was awful at this. Extremely awful.

She checked her phone. A text from Lucia about how nice of a night she had.

Heather tried to not scream in frustration.

She failed.

* * *

"Pick up, dammit," Heather groaned.

Sothe was ghosting her. She'd been trying to reach him for hours as she stared at the three bags of gold that had appeared in her apartment as she'd gone to get groceries. An envelope had been left on top.

There was no letter, simply pictures. One of her and Lucia cuddling in the theater. Another of them stumbling into Heather's apartment.

One of Lucia on top of Heather in her bedroom.

She felt like vomiting. Were they always watching? Who even was they? Did the Fireman work alone? Who had hired him?

The last picture was an illustration of the Queen kneeling to the Empress of Begnion. The words 'Begnion's Bitch' were scribbled beneath.

This one was to be put on the wall of the castle.

Heather dialed Sothe again. "Pick up, pick up," she pleaded.

He didn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally time for some CONFLICT.
> 
> Want to support me? I have a ko-fi! If you’re feeling generous, I’d really appreciate it.  
> https://ko-fi.com/cormagravenstaff


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

She'd gone for a ski mask.

Heather imagined what the clerk at the store must have thought. A ragged looking woman stumbling in and buying only a ski mask in the slums?

Yeah, he definitely would be jumping to conclusions. Not that he had any reason not to.

She tied her hair back into a bun, the only style that could be covered by the ill-fitting mask. She'd picked out all clothes that looked plain, unassuming.

When Heather had looked in the mirror, she'd felt sick.

But the blonde had powered through. And now she looked at Castle Melior from across the street, sequestered within bushes. It was night, of course. Heather needed all the cover she could get.

Guards patrolled the walls. Armed with their assault rifles and all sorts of armaments, Heather had her attention divided between them and the time.

She'd only an hour to do it. The note had said the wall of the castle, so Heather interpreted that to mean the exterior wall, the grandiose stone fence to keep the commoners out.

Nonchalance was a better mask than sneaking, so Heather emerged from the bushes and started walking down the street, eyes on the guards. They patrolled formulaically, keeping a rhythm she could exploit.

With a sharp inhale, Heather snapped her head back to check the coast. Clear. Through the light from street lamps, Heather crossed the street to the wall.

Pressing herself against the stone, she paused. Had she been seen?

A minute passed with no disruption. She breathed.

And got to work.

She shook the spray can, the familiar scent of paint comforting her. Maybe it was a mild high, but Heather hardly cared right now.

She painted the Empress first. She was the less familiar figure, so Heather took the time to make her clearly recognizable. The young Sanaki looked down at where Elincia would be painted with satisfaction.

Heather switched to the visage of Elincia on her knees. She shook the white can, ready to paint the clothes of the Queen.

She'd never noticed how the white she used was such a similar shade to the white she'd seen Lucia wear when they went to the movie. Her breath caught. If Lucia ever learned she was responsible for this…

Her mind went to the picture of Elincia getting fucked in the last act of vandalism. Would you want to date someone who painted political vandalism porn of someone you considered a sister?

Heather felt sick as she continued working. When had she become this? A low life, not an artist?

"Fuck," Heather murmured as she stepped back. Elincia was finished.

Headlights flared down the road. Heather glanced at them, the light almost revealing her position. The car was coming towards her.

"Oh,  _fuck_ ," Heather said, mind connecting the dots. They'd see the picture. She needed to scarper.

So she ran across the road. Voices yelled behind her, but she didn't stop. Heather dashed through the vegetation she'd hid in before and back into the untamed city. The ski mask came off, tucked in her pocket. Hair undone and free. Anything and everything she could do to look the part of the city she was in.

Heather began the walk home, breathing easier the closer she got to the slums.

It wasn't until she got to her apartment that she realized she hadn't written the words under the picture.

* * *

She was afraid to look at the news. She was afraid to see Lucia acting as a spokesperson for the Queen or the picture she drew.

Heather hadn't touched the four bags of gold she'd come home to. Four hundred thousand gold and Heather had no stomach for it. Not even her struggling mother was motivation enough for her to touch the bags.

The letter that had been on top lay discarded beside the money. It had said, 'Don't forget the words. Do this right. We know where you live.'

Her phone rang.

Mind jumping to Sothe, Heather grabbed it. "Yeah?" she answered.

"Hey," Lucia's voice came through. "You got a moment?"

"Sure, what's up?" The worries of the day began to recede.

"Have you seen the news?"

"A little."

Lucia didn't respond. Heather opened her mouth to speak when she heard it.

Crying. Sobbing. The throes of woe. It grew, escalating to Lucia's heaving breaths as she repeatedly fumbled for words, searching for something to say.

Heather's mouth remained open, no longer knowing what to say.

"Sorry," Lucia eventually managed. "It's just so fucking hard right now. The entire nation is turning against Elincia. I…I don't know what to do. I've always been the one to give her advice and help her but I just don't know what to do.

"Every time we manage to deal with one of these nightmares, another pops up. First the graffiti, then the leaked documents, the rumors, it all builds up and sets the public alight. Every damn time."

Her words caught in her throat again. She'd only seen snippets of the news. She hadn't even taken to account that there were other things influencing the public's opinion.

"I'm sorry for throwing this on you," Lucia said, already composing herself. "It's not fair to do that to you. I just needed…just needed to vent."

"Lucia, don't worry about me. Let it out. I'm here to listen," Heather said, finally finding words.

And so she did. Lucia walked through every damn hurdle Heather had inadvertently helped set up. Heather's nails dug further into her skin each second, but she ignored the blood. She ignored it as Lucia explained that someone had tried to poison Elincia. She ignored it as Lucia explained how someone had planted a bomb in her room.

She ignored it when Lucia told her about the Queen's suicide attempt.

"Do you need me to come by? I can't help with any of that PR bullshit, but I can at least be there for you." Heather hoped she'd say yes.

"Sure," Lucia mumbled, her voice going hoarse. "I'll notify the guards to let you through."

Amidst short goodbyes, Heather eyed the money. Hanging up the phone, she looked up at the ceiling.

"I'm done."

There was no response, of course. Perhaps Heather was talking to thin air. But she'd made a decision.

No more.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

The guard stared at her for a long time. Kieran, according to his nametag, was looking for some reason why she shouldn't be admitted to the castle.

Heather didn't blame him, really. She wasn't some foreign dignitary or person of any import. She was a citizen wearing sweatpants and a sweatshirt.

"You're…cleared for entry." Heather walked on through before the zealous guard had an aneurism. His eyes bored holes in her back. It was refreshing in a way, having a man stare at her for her, not her tits or ass.

Sure, he probably wanted to throw her out onto the street, but a girl had to take a win where it came from.

Walking across the wide green space between the walls and the castle proper, Heather could see it wasn't just Keiran who was watching her. Every guard had at least an eye trained on her. She was an unknown. An oddity.

Something they needed to observe meticulously. Lucia Delbray inviting a mysterious woman into the castle during the current political climate?

Heather couldn't find a reason to cite it as crazy.

A cacophonous boom reminded her of her urgency in walking to the castle. Thunder. Her pace quickened from lackadaisical to resolute in an instant.

Every guard she had her eyes on flinched at the change. Hands to guns, to their earpieces. Quick movements told her she was on dangerous ground.

She considered the slums dangerous to an outsider. But she was an outsider on these grounds now.

When she finally arrived at the main doors to the castle, she was greeted by a single guard. Oh, other guards were around, but they cut a wide berth as the circled her. Heather's time running with gangs had taught her to know when she was cornered.

This one, tall and eye-patched, looked like he'd just woken up from a nap. His hair was ruffled in an odd way and his appearance disheveled, but Heather's eyes caught the way his hand hovered at the holster.

"Madam, you must be Heath…" He paused, yawning. "Heather," he finished. "Lady Lucia said to expect you. I'll be your…" Another yawn. "Your escort, Haar."

"Perfect," Heather said. "Sure you're awake for it?"

Haar tilted his head down and  _really_ looked at her. In a moment of clarity amidst the sleep and haze of a lazy man, Heather glimpsed the person beneath. A guard who would do anything for his charge. A man of action.

Heather shivered.

"Well, try any funny business and you can test how awake I am," Haar grumbled. He gestured with a nod of his head. "Follow me."

Haar took Heather through the castle. Like its exterior, the interior followed the motif of white. Walls, furniture, white with tones of green. The guards' attire, black as night, didn't seem as suited for the castle now that she was inside.

But far more interesting than the décor was the tension.

Men and women walked up and down the halls in hushed conversation. They would fall to a hush when passing guards, only to pick up again once enough distance had passed.

Heather didn't miss how Haar's eye focused on each face that didn't meet his as they passed. His was memorizing. Filing information away for later.

"We're here," he said, breaking her out of her reverie. Heather blinked, staring at a white door. "Lady Lucia has requested privacy, but I'll be right out this door." The threat was left implied.

Heather nodded. She opened the door, ignoring Haar's trained eye.

The room was less grand than she expected. Oh, it was opulent and full of grandeur, fitted with a massive bed and a balcony that looked over the courtyard. Filled with fresh flowers in vases, the room was spotless.

But that was it. No massive sculptures, no gaudy works of art. It was finery refined. Not like the movies Heather had seen of rich people, always flaunting their money.

Heather liked that about Lucia.

"Heather!" Lucia cried, turning around on the balcony. She crossed the room by the time Heather closed the door. Her arms wrapped around her torso and Heather stumbled back, her breath catching and a chuckle blooming. She returned the hug.

"Good to see you too." Heather pulled back and kissed Lucia. The two stepped back from each other and shared a moment of silence.

"I like the room." Heather broke it first.

Lucia looked around and shook her head. "It lacks personality. You should see my room back at the Delbray estate. In my younger years I fancied myself a bit of a decorator."

"As an artist I feel inclined to express my interest at seeing this room at some point," Heather said through her smirk.

Lucia laughed. "You will. What this room has that I do love is the balcony. Come."

"Most people wait to have me in bed before saying that." Her words tumbled out, not that she stopped them.

The noblewoman paused and turned to look at Heather. She fixed her with a long look. Then, "Play your cards right and we'll see."

At Heather's look of shock at the reply, Lucia grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the balcony, her laughter leading the way.

* * *

Heather didn't know how many minutes or hours went by when the knock at the door came. Lucia cut off mid-sentence as she said, "Come in."

The door opened and in stepped the Queen of Crimea.

The Queen looked at Lucia, then to Heather. She smiled.

"Is this her?" the Queen asked.

Lucia floundered for words. "Uh, yeah. Heather, this is Elincia. Elincia, this is Heather." Lucia's face was bright red.

Heather would tease her about it later.

For now, she'd try to not concentrate on the photo she'd seen of Elincia naked.

"A pleasure, your majesty," Heather bowed her head, but didn't stand up. Oddly, Elincia seemed pleased.

"Elincia is fine," she waved off. "When I heard Lucia had invited a stranger to the castle, I had to come and see if it was the one and only Heather I had heard so much about."

Heather glanced at Lucia. "Oh, been talking about me behind my back? Better be saying nice things, dear," she joked. The Queen laughed as Lucia protested futilely.

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Stealing a quick glance, she didn't recognize the number. As she opened the message, she gasped.

"Is everything alright?" Elincia asked.

"Just taken with Lucia's beauty, you know?" Heather lied on the spot. She leaned into the woman sitting next to her. Lucia wrapped and arm around her, blushing.

Elincia giggled and clapped theatrically. It didn't do much to distract Heather from what she'd seen.

It had been a picture of Sothe, tied to a chair. Gagged and bloody.

The words, 'We need to talk. Now.' followed.


	10. Chapter 10

She didn't remember the excuse she'd given Lucia and Elincia. Her mind was a fog, her legs on autopilot. Her switchblade was in her hand. Flicking it out, then in. Out and in.

People had given her a wide berth. She'd been lucky no one in the richer areas had called the cops. Or maybe they had and she'd avoided them.

Heather didn't remember the walk to Sothe's door. It was when her hand fell on the unlocked handle that she snapped back. Her switchblade flicked out and stayed out.

She pushed the door open, it emitting that audible creak that she'd always hated. Heather crept forward, her boots padding her foot falls.

Heather glanced in the kitchen. The place was a mess. A struggle had taken place, no doubt. Sothe wasn't that messy.

She continued towards the living room where Sothe always lingered. A hooded figure sat in Sothe's armchair.

The Fireman threw the hood back, devilish features complimented by the low lighting of the streetlights through the window. Though part of his face was shrouded by the night, his glaring smirk shone bright.

"You're done, yeah?" he said. His tone was a serving of light with an undercurrent that reverberated like a tremor. There was fury in his voice. Constrained, tied back and manacled with care, but it was an anger.

Heather said nothing.

"Because, and I'm sure I don't have to say this to you," the Fireman continued. "If you care at all about little Sothe, then you're not done. We had an agreement."

"You didn't tell me what I was doing," Heather protested. Her voice felt dwarfed by his.

The Fireman leaned forward. "No, I didn't. Because I took you for a woman of intellect that knew what she was getting into. It's too late to back out now, Heather. You're a part of this."

Her fist clenched around the switchblade. "And if I don't care what happens to Sothe?"

The Fireman's smirk grew. "Then I get to have some fun with him. But don't be naïve. I know about your relationship with Lucia Delbray. I've been watching you two." His lips curled. "Don't feed me your bullshit about not caring about her."

A tremor ran through her arm, shaking and barely constrained. The switchblade glinted, moving in and out of the light. She grit her teeth. "What do you want."

He laughed. "Finish the job, Heather. Only two more pieces left. Then the game really begins."

"What game?" Heather asked, her voice a quaver.

"Why, Heather, you haven't figured it out?" The Fireman leapt up from the chair with agility. Heather stepped back, holding the knife in front of her. He grinned, leering down at her. "The revolution, of course. The whole thing this has been building to. Have you really not been paying attention?"

"I'll have no part in that," Heather said. The knife still pointed at him.

He chuckled and took a step back, moving towards the window. Passing headlights from the street illuminated his shark-like appearance. "You already have," he said. "None of this would be possible without you, Heather." The way he said her name, almost akin to a purr. "You'll have done your job by that point, your usefulness expired."

"And if I go to the cops?"

The Fireman turned, pivoting on the spot. His gaze leveled on her, hard and focused. He held it there, staring for several long moments. "Try it. Give me a reason to kill you, your girlfriend, your little Sothe and every other person you've ever interacted with."

He strut towards Heather. His boots clacked against the hardwood floor. She didn't back down, but he loomed over her. "Heather, I do trust you won't do anything stupid." The Fireman considered his words. "Especially like telling your new friend, the Queen. That wouldn't make me happy."

"I understand." It took all her will power to force her voice to not squeak.

"Good," he said. The Fireman stepped around her, towards the door. As he reached the door, he turned, "I'll tell Sothe you said hi." Then, he left.

"Fuck," Heather spat as soon as the door closed. She glanced at her phone, several unread messages from Lucia blinking on her screen.

"Fuck," she groaned, staring at the chair Sothe usually sat in. Heather took a glance around the room and the kitchen. There was no sign, no note, no indication of anything aside from the struggle in the kitchen.

" _Dammit!"_  she screamed, punching the wall, its paper thin construction breaking with ease with her strike. Heather pulled back her hand, looking at the flecks of blood from a hundred little cuts across her fist.

She needed to get out of this city. She needed to do something.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Want to support me? I have a ko-fi! If you’re feeling generous, I’d really appreciate it.  
> https://ko-fi.com/cormagravenstaff

**Author's Note:**

> Want to support me? I have a ko-fi! If you’re feeling generous, I’d really appreciate it.  
> https://ko-fi.com/cormagravenstaff


End file.
